Blue Alert - 2

"James"

-x-

I have a history of sleep walking. Sometimes it's mild and harmless, and sometimes it's dangerous. I've woken up on the sofa in the living room before, sometimes even outside in my backyard. I've even woken up in the neighborhood park a block away from out house before. I've never, however, woken up under the bridge of a freeway practically naked. At least when I woke up all those other times I was still in my pajamas. But not this time. I was clad in only a pair of boxers and dirty white socks on my feet.

To say I was surprised would be an understatement. Actually, I started freaking out. I jerked up with a yell, scrambled to my feet, and checked my body for wounds or injuries or any other type of mishandling. I could never be too cautious at times like this -- who knew what damage I (or anyone else for that matter) did to myself in my sleep? Thankfully, I found nothing wrong, but I couldn't really say for sure until I got back home and checked myself out more thoroughly.

I carefully climbed down the architectural tears under the bridge, garnering more than a few stares from the cars in traffic. I was used to it, the stares, but it still unsettled me how far away from home I went. Rubbing my arms at the slight chill against my skin, I started walking away from the freeway and traffic. All the while, I oriented myself with my surroundings -- it was late morning, way past breakfast time, and I was seven miles from home. How did I get so far without being stopped? Surely someone would question a naked young man wandering around at night?

...Apparently not. Apart from staring at me, no one so much as even rolled down their window and shouted a comment at my lack of clothing. When I entered the nearest convenient store for a pay phone, the customers avoided me and the store worker kept one hand hovered over the security button. I wanted to sigh at their behavior, but I really couldn't blame them. I probably looked like a homeless person or some mental ward escapee.

I didn't have change on me, but I figured the old collect call method would work. Hello again, operator, you're finally of use to someone who doesn't know why the hell he's wandering around town naked. Yes, that's me, and I need to get someone to pick me up -- I think there are rocks embedded in the soles of my feet.

No, really, my feet hurt. I think bits of gravel, maybe even a small glass shard from a broken liquor bottle, were stuck in the soles of my feet. It was rather unpleasant to feel, and as much as I wanted to wipe my foot against the inside of my leg, I didn't want to accidentally shove the pieces deeper. Cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder, I took the chance to at least check over my limbs.

My arms were scratched, from what probably was twigs and branches; my legs were fairly injure free, plus or minus a bruise here and there; my chest was dirty but nothing wrong there; and my head...? I combed my fingers through my hair, tugging out tangles and shaking out dirt. There was some crusty stuff in the back I couldn't quite get out, but considering I felt no wound, I wasn't all too concerned; I could always wash it out later. As soon as I got home. ...As soon as someone picked up the phone.

Where was everybody? I had called home, but no one was answering. It was a weekday; my mother should've been home, not at the grocery store or church or anywhere she usually went on the weekends. And what about Mike? He was my mom's boyfriend; he'd be visiting about now, wouldn't he?

Honestly, I didn't like Mike, but then again I didn't like a lot of my mother's boyfriends. They tended to be jerks and ass kissers. They all thought that by getting buddy-buddy with me, they'd win my mom's heart. Wrong.

But anyway, Mike should've been around. Right? He liked to visit a lot at the house and was often there when I got home from school. To know he wasn't available to pick up the phone at least... Weird.

I hung up the phone, wondering what to do. I couldn't get in touch with anyone at home, and it was a weekday at... whatever time it was... so I wasn't sure if I could catch a ride from a friend before they went to work. Would I have to call the police? I didn't like doing that.

"Whoa, James?!"

At the sudden voice, I looked around. Frozen at the door of the store was Conner. He was staring at me with wide eyes, obviously shocked at how I looked.

He came up next to me and looked me over. "Shit, man, what happened to you? What are you doing here?"

I shook my head. "I don't know, honestly."

He frowned.

"I can't remember what happened. I woke up under a highway like this. I've been trying to call home, but no one's answering."

"Dude, you should be calling the police, not your house."

I grimaced. "I'd rather not do that... Hey, can you give me a ride home?"

Conner blinked. "Uh, yeah, sure." He waved at me to follow him as he went to his car. I got into the passenger seat, careful of any unseen injuries I might've had. Conner glanced at me, looking at me again with that wary look of his, before he started up the car. "Seriously, I think you should call the police."

Allow me to interject right here. Other than myself and maybe my mom if she's ever noticed, no one else knows about my strange sleep walking habit. I never announced it to anyone because, really, who willingly gave out that type of information? People tend to think the worst out of every situation, and right now, they'd think I was a kook or something for waking up in the middle of the street nowhere near my house.

"Just take me home please."

"...Alright."

Conner drove me home.

The ride was silent, at least between the two of us, but he turned on the radio to make it less awkward.

It was maybe a ten minute drive from the convenient store to my street, but I swear it felt longer. I kept wondering what my mom would say once she found out what happened to me. I looked a mess, I had absolutely no recollection of how I ended up a near ten minute drive away from home without anyone noticing, and this wasn't a first time occurrence. It was simply the first time it'd ever gotten so out of control.

Sighing, I dreaded the confrontation I was sure to get, as we turned onto my street. What normally was a quiet street was suddenly loud and crowded with cars. Both Conner and I stared on, beyond confused, at the row of police cars, an ambulance, and a couple vans with television logos on the side.

...What the hell?

Conner slowed down as he neared the crowd. People were standing around, not just neighbors, but the policemen and television crews. They were gathering all around one particular house. It only took me a moment to realize it was me own house they were crowding.

I looked at Conner who looked back at me, giving a helpless shake of his head. He didn't know what was going on either.

I swallowed, my throat tightening, and continued to watch. "Don't stop. Just... drive by."

"What? James, that's your house! Don't you wanna know what's going on?"

I snapped back at him. "Of course I do! But do you know how suspicious I'd look like this?" I gestured at myself.

Conner's eyes roamed over me. "Well..." He kept driving, slowly passing my house. "Shit, man. Look, I have a trench coat in the trunk. I'll park a couple houses down and let you use it."

I wanted to argue, but at the same time I wanted to know the truth. What the hell was going on? First I wake up in a weird place, practically naked, and now there are CSI looking people outside my house.

I let Conner take me down the street where there was more room. He parked in the driveway and got his trench coat from the trunk. If I could, I'd just walk out as I was; I had already made a fool of myself from the highway to the convenient store. But I let him give it to me, and I put it on because he did.

I snapped close the buttons and securely tied it with the belt. I had not shoes, just socks, but this was as best as I was going to get. At least I wasn't completely naked for when the reporters shoved their cameras in my face. I knew they would.

"...Hey, need me to go with you?"

I looked at Conner. He looked concerned. With a shake of my head, I told him, "No. But just stay nearby in case I need a place to crash."

He didn't look pleased with that answer, but it was the only one I could give him. I bumped fists with him before heading toward the chaos, leaving him to linger by the car.

It was a slow walk, and the trip took an amazingly long amount of time. As I neared, though, like hungry wolves to an injured sheep, several heads turned my way, their eyes finding me quickly. I felt like a bird on a platter being under their stares.

They didn't say anything at first, but one of the police officers came up to me and stood in my path.

"Can I help you, young man?"

I looked up at him. He was taller than me by a handful of inches. "Well, yeah." I looked at my house. "I live here."

When I looked back at him, his brows had gone up. He was looking me up and down, taking in my appearance. I couldn't tell what he thought about me, about what he saw, but it didn't look particularly good.

"...I see. Then you're James S. Young?"

I nodded.

His lips pulled into a thin line. "Do you know what's going on?"

"Of course not. Why are all you people outside my house?"

He hesitated. "...That's a good question. Son, your mother was found dead early this morning."

...What?

Shock stabbed through me. I hoped I had heard him wrong. My mother. Dead? Surely he was joking... right?

But the man's face didn't change. He didn't suddenly yell out "psych!" and tell me it was all some bad joke put on by my friends. (How that would even be possible, I don't know. But he wasn't kidding.) He wasn't joking.

He even gave me this sympathetic look and gently laid his hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "N-no. Wait. She's dead?" I shrugged away his hand. "Who found her? What happened?"

"I can't tell you all the details right now, but it she was stabbed by someone who broke into your house last night. The one who found her claims to be her boyfriend. We have him under custody at this moment, and right now we need you to come with us to sort out details."

He put his hand on my shoulder again and steered me away from the house and the people still around it. The news crews pointed their cameras at me, but I didn't look into them as the officer ushered me into the back of his car.

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't argue. I still didn't understand what was going on. Mike had found my mother dead. Dead! And stabbed, too! What the fuck was going on?

I hardly heard the man talking as he told me where we were going and what we'd do. Talk. After that, I'm sure there was silence, but all I heard was the ringing in my ears and the string of questions looping through my head.

I don't even know when I closed my eyes.